Bonds of Oblivion: Crest of Magick
by Tshawn Toms
Summary: What is turth? What is magic? What happens after? Three are born, steeped in tragedy from birth and circumstance; they will bring forth a revolution. They will bring forth a change that will bring the world to its knees... and perhaps even worlds thereafter.


Chapter 1: A life for a life

Arthur Weasley was a man of simplicity; he found joy in the small bits of life, preferring to avoid ruminating on the complexities that he knew would bring nothing more than stress and anxiety, yet for once it was impossible to ignore the weight that had come to rest on his shoulders.

He'd always found purpose and peace in the smiling faces of his family. Ensuring they were loved and taken care of was his drive; it was what kept him going when the bills flooded them, or when the Ministry cut his pay as a means to provide funds for some project or another, or whatever other misfortune befell him. Their happiness was all he needed… until his world came crashing down around him. It seemed to him that Fate had a flair for cruelty.

"Arthur," his wife, Molly whispered to him from her spot on the other side of their bed. In her arms was their youngest child -Ginny barely a year old, pale and sickly- and her eyes were veiled in undisguised worry, naked for him to see. "We'll figure this out- I mean we always have, there's nothing that can stop us."

Tentatively Arthur reached out, gently caressing Molly's arm, he wanted desperately to believe those words. She was the person he cherished the most. She had been there for him through it all, loving him even when he didn't have the strength to love himself. It was a agonizing to know that he was going to break her heart and there was nothing that could be done.

Molly shifted, leaning into the touch and adjusting her hold on Ginny. Arthur looked solemnly at the two, taking time to roam his eyes over them both over as if this would be the last time he would ever get the chance. Molly's red hair was frazzled and fraying at the ends, her skin was taking on a pallor that looked wrong on her in every sense, and her brown eyes were so dull. It was haunting.

Even worse was the state of Ginny. She was small for her age, and each breath she took sent her little body rattling until she would cough and hack in a way that no child should. She looked like a ghost in her mother's arms, the yellow that lined her brown eyes left her looking as if Death himself was standing over her.

"Molly you heard what the healers said. They can't help her. The ingredients for the potions they need aren't easy to come by, and even if they had the potions on hand we couldn't afford them." Arthur paused and swallowed thickly through dry lips. He couldn't bring himself to repeat the last part of the healers' report, though he knew Molly understood the implication of his silence. The Scorfungulus had ravaged their daughter, leaving her heart and lungs weak, forcing the two of them to constantly have to keep vigil over her. His little girl was on her deathbed.

"Arthur," Molly's tone was the heart wrenching plea of a mother on the edge of sanity, "you could go to Gringotts and get a loan- put up the house if you have to, anything to save our daughter!"

The look of grief was nearly enough to break Arthur down to tears. Air seized in his lungs, allowing numbness to take root. He had never imagined that a moment like this would ever come, not with the war over and peace at hand. For a while he was sure that the darkness had long since passed, that he and his would be able to live lives of joy, unburdened by the threat of Voldemort and his ilk; to have his world fall apart around him so abruptly was jarring. It left him in a dazed state, as though he was looking from the outside, unable to make a difference.

He sighed deeply and pulled Molly into a tender hug. He inhaled deeply taking in her scent. He wanted to comfort her, to show her that this, as all things would pass. He couldn't though, all he could do was be there for her (for them) and pray that they found a solution, that their daughter made it through this ordeal.

He loved Molly, and Ginny, and all his children. This sick twist of Fate was tearing him apart; what was a father to do when forced to watch his child fade away, withering into nothing more than a corpse fit only for the ground? His heart ached and he desperately wished that there was something- anything he could do to pull her back from the precipice, but all options had been explored; every resource had been exhausted. There was nothing more to be done.

Finally a tear fell, and the floodgates opened. Arthur cried as he hadn't in a long time. The sobs of a man on the brink of loosing something that he held close to his heart echoed throughout the house. He was a pitiful sight that none would wish to bear witness to, but Molly endured it. She had to be that loving wife who stood tall next to her husband, that loving mother that took care of the family (that did anything for them), who could be their rock when they needed it most.

To Molly family had always been the most important thing that one could have, and it was one's duty to do whatever they could to protect and preserve their family. The war had done the witches and wizards of Brittan no favors; many a family line were extinguished at the behest of Voldemort, and even more were crippled, left to the last. Molly herself was an example of a survivor forced to carry the memories and traditions of a clan that once flourished.

Molly was the last of the Prewett line. Their work against the Dark Lord made them key targets of the Death Eater's barbarism. Worse yet the dragon pox outbreak that occurred during the height of the fight earlier left only Molly, and her brothers Fabien and Gideon bear the legacy of their clan. By the time the blood and dust settled Molly was the only Prewitt left.

In the children that she and Arthur had, she saw the future. She saw a future where happiness shone brightly, so bright the no darkness could snuff it out. She saw a future where the shadows of corruption, war, and bloodshed did not stalk her kin. In her children she saw greatness, and to have to suffer the pain seeing one of those children- seeing a part of her own future laying so close to death, it was something that she couldn't handle. She had to save her daughter, she had to. Family meant everything to her, and she would pay whatever price deemed necessary to assure Ginny's survival.

Eventually Arthur's sobs ebbed away to be replaced by light snoring. Ginny followed her father, falling into a fitful slumber. Molly smiled somberly. There was a painful ache in her soul as she watched the two of them toss and turn. No doubt they were both plagued by nightmares. Molly abhorred having to see the two of them in such sorry states.

Gingerly Molly rose from the bed and placed Ginny in the crib that sat next to it. Then, with a flick of her wand and a few muttered words a golden light shimmered into existence and then quickly faded away.

With the monitoring charm in place Molly silently descended the stairs. Her mind was a whirlwind of ideas. Her priority was seeing her daughter make it through this ordeal, secondly was a swift recovery from the financial issues that came in tandem with Ginny's fragility.

With a deft hand she made herself some tea and took a seat in the kitchen, hoping to clear her mind for a moment; she needed to plot a course of action. She swirled the steaming cup of tea, taking a whiff of it, filling her nostrils with the delicious scent of oranges. Unbeknownst to most magical folk many teas had magical properties that even muggles could gain some benefit from. In fact most plants absorbed some amount of ambient magic from their surroundings then converted it into an "essence" unique to themselves, and they imparted that "essence" into the tea when brewed in properly. Different plants created different types of energy from the magic they absorbed. The essence of oranges for example was one of change, a new beginning, and hope.

Molly drank her tea slowly basking in the heat of it, allowing the magic within it to fill her. The house was quiet around her, and the sun had yet to rise. Molly took the time to enjoy the calmness of it. In the silence of dawn, when darkness reigned and light began its ascent from below she felt at peace, despite the turmoil that roiled within her veins. It was in these moments that Molly understood that darkness could never completely destroy the light, just as good could not eradicate evil; it was in this that she was reminded of the fleetingness of it all.

As she drank, a plan began to form. It was rough and a long shot at best, still it was more than she'd had only a few hours earlier. She finished the last dregs of her tea, taking in the slight tingle of barely noticeable magic that wound its way through her.

Once she was done, she set her cup in the sink and turned to the living room. She forwent the couches, instead she focused on the fireplace. She watched for a moment as the small flames danced inside it and the faint crackle of embers filled the room. After a second of hesitation, Molly grabbed a handful of floo powder from the dish that sat atop the mantle.

"Gringotts" she whispered as she tossed it into the hungry flames turning them from their enchanting orange to a mesmerizing emerald that painted the room in an ethereal glow. She was nervous, her hands trembled with unease, and there was no telling what the price would be. Whatever it was, she would be willing to pay. No sacrifice was too great if it meant her daughter had a chance to live.

Out of the coals appeared the visage of a disgruntled goblin. He was an elder judging by the winkles that adorned his face, and the molted grey color of his skin. He bared his teeth at Molly in a disparate imitation of a grin.

Molly had never found goblins to be creatures worthy of trust. They often aided wizards on either side of their internal conflicts by claiming neutrality, when all knew they had some agenda they sought to pursue. It was grating having to patronize them when they held such obvious contempt for Wizarding society. The lingering unease brought on by their machinations caused no small amount of mistrust.

"Mrs. Weasley to what do I owe this pleasure?" the goblin's voice was gravelly, and somehow eloquent, serving as both placation and intimidation.

Molly's throat constricted slightly. For a moment the thought of simply leaving the question unanswered floated around in her mind. It would be easier to let this go and search for another solution. Of course that would only be an option if there were other alternatives.

"I'd like to apply for a loan." She kept her tone crisp and clipped, not wanting to deal with the creature for any longer than she had to.

Immediately the goblin's eyes narrowed, and the false smile was replaced by a deep frown.

"Mrs. Weasley, you know as well as I do that your family already has a loan with us. You've already put your little hovel up as collateral and you're barely making payments. We shan't loan you another galleon until the previous debt is paid."

Molly's face fell. Of course she had known that this would be the most likely outcome, she had expected it even. Still, there was a difference in expectations and the reality when ones fears came to pass.

"Please, my daughter is dying!"

The words left her of their own accord before she could stop herself. Tears streamed down her face. The goblin seemed taken aback by the admission, and for a long moment silence stretched, foreboding and suffocating.

Perhaps it was the desperation of her circumstance playing tricks on Molly when the goblin seemed to mull over her outburst, or maybe she simply wished he would. He had no reason to authorize any money being sent to her, especially as he knew she had nothing of value to give in exchange.

While she choked on sadness outwardly, inwardly she lamented the unfairness of it all. At every step of her life she had sought to be kind and understanding of others, and though she had her own prejudices and values she'd invariably tried to curb that part of herself. Good came from good, at least that was how she was taught, so she'd strived to be good.

""Mrs. Weasley," the goblin said firmly, breaking her from her hysteria. "I, Razem will personally provide you with the funds you need for your daughter."

Molly's jaw dropped, and relief flooded her. "Thank you, thank you!"

The response she received was a snort that immediately raised alarm bells. "I'm afraid you're thanking me far too early. I'm not providing these galleons out of the goodness of my heart."

Once again that niggling feeling returned. Goblin's were creatures of greed, she should have expected a catch. Nothing worth having in life came without sacrifice however, and her daughter's life was worth the world to her. She had to stay the course.

"I'll give anything if it means I'll get to see my baby girl grow up."

Again silence reigned, leaving Molly with nothing more than the sounds of the crackling embers and a sleeping house. It was eerie to be in the darkness like that, waiting for the other shoe to drop, as if she were waiting on her own execution. The tension was palpable, and for a moment she wondered if this had been a mistake. Then she quickly swallowed that doubt, whatever consequences that came with this would be hers to bear.

Razem's nodded, "Very well. You may not know this," he paused and a look of contemplation overtook him before he continued, "and perhaps should not, but we goblins are far more invested in the Wizarding realm than most would realize. We keep tabs on both families aligned with Dumbledore and those who oppose him. Suffice to say your financial situation and your daughter's failing health is information that we have been privy to for quite some time."

Molly started at Razem unblinkingly, as though he had spoken in a language that she had never heard. The goblins had known about her plight? Why provide aid now? Even if she had asked there was nothing to be gained from this. There had to be more than he was saying, or was he simply teasing her, allowing her to believe her daughter could be saved from her fate?

Razem did not give her time to voice her thoughts. "In truth Gringotts gets nothing from this exchange, something I have no doubt you realize…" he paused once more, allowing his eyes to take on a faraway look for a split second, then his dagger-like smile returned. "I, however, wish to test your resolve."

"What does that mean?" Again, Molly was consumed by apprehension. She could feel the sword of Damocles poised over her head. Perhaps this was a mistake, an error on her part. Goblins could not be trusted, that had always been drilled into her by her parents, by society, by her own interactions with them. What was she even thinking, to call Gringotts at this hour of the night? What was there to hope for in this, an end to her suffering? What was her quandary in the face of their avarice?

Razem chuckled at the overwhelming fear that was so palpable. "Who's life is worth more; your daughter's, or that of your youngest son?"

There it was, the catch; a trap created by her own convictions. Molly felt lightheaded. She could feel the blood draining from her face, as though she had been cut or stabbed, left to slowly bleed out. And, isn't that the case? He knew of her desire (need) to protect her family, and he had the audacity forged into a blade, a weapon to bring even more suffering under the guise of help. This was cruelty on a level she had never seen.

"Please-" she whispered, "please, please, you can't make me choose! Please!" She pleaded. This was unadulterated savagery, to force a mother to choose between her children, to render Molly as the killer of one of her own children, how could anyone be that barbarous? A life for a life was never an equal trade no matter the case.

"I am not forcing you to make a choice. You can take the deal or you can leave it, it's up to you." Razem twisted the knife with a vicious smile. His hold on Molly was just as brutal, he could see the conflict in her, he could see her struggling to come to terms with his ultimatum (for what else could this be). He found such joy in torturing humans, and while physical torture was cathartic, mental torment on the other hand was just as effective while leaving the victim alive so that they might carry on the scars that would never fade. It was sublime in his honest opinion.

Molly grit her teeth and took a shuddering breath. She understood what was going on here. "You are a monster." She hissed.

Razem let out a long low chuckle. "There lies a monster in all of us Mrs. Weasley. In fact you have the opportunity to prove that right at this very moment. Sell your youngest son to me and I will cover all medical expenses for your daughter, or decline my offer and leave your daughter to languish for what little time she has left."

Molly clenched her fists in her night blouse. The unfairness of this situation left her feeling hollow. What had she ever done to pressed in to this predicament? She couldn't breathe. Her lungs were seized with a deep cold. How could a parent put the life of one child over another? What had she done to earn such punishment?

Molly sobbed, her mind reeled as though struck by some physical object. She couldn't do this, she couldn't. She wiped her face with shaking hands.

"I can't do something like this." She made to stand, to leave this goblin and his insidious offer behind her. She would find another way.

"Molly, I think we should take the deal." The Weasley matriarch turned to see her husband standing behind her.

Arthur's face was the embodiment of anguish, though beneath that was a profound resolve that he rarely put forth ( and underneath that was remorse). Molly trembled with shame; he had heard their discussion, heard about the deal.

"Arthur we can't do this! We can't give up our son, we can figure this out another wa-"

"Molly," Arthur cut her short, "there is no other way." He ran his hand over his face in frustration, "The healers they-" he stopped himself again, as if trying to find the right words, then took a quivering breath "Ginny only has a month, two at the most. If we don't do this she'll die."

Molly fell to her knees. Here was the rub. Was there any decision to truly be made? How could she allow her daughter to die when her son would live, but what was a life when it was one of slavery? How would Ron feel if he ever learned that his own parents would sell him like chattle? Would he care that it was for the life of his sister? What about the rest of her children?

Bill and Charlie were old enough to understand. What would they feel if they found their brother gone one morning or that their sister lay dead? Percy, Fred, and George were young, but what would they hear from the others. Was the sacrifice of one child for the life of another worth the anguish that would no doubt come from it?

Molly leaped up grabbing onto Arthur's shirt, shacking him. "Arthur you can't be serious! Please we can't sell our boy into slavery!"

Arthur shook his head somberly. "We can't get another loan, and no one else is willing to help us. Snape's been locked up and Dumbledore is busy trying to keep him out of Azkaban. Ron's a strong boy, he'll survive this. He might hate us, but… I'd rather that than have to put Ginny in a grave."

Arthur gripped Molly's shoulders and gently lifted her to her feet. "Molly, no matter the choice we make tonight, we will suffer. At least this way all of our children will live, even if they grow to hate us for it."

There was wisdom in those words, wisdom that Molly wanted so desperately to deny. Being a slave was not living, no matter how anyone tired to construe it. Her son would not have a life, he would be nothing more than a tool for a master to do what they pleased with. How was that a life?

"Arthur," she pleaded again. Could he not see that nothing good would come of this, that agreeing to this plan would lead to ruin for them? Had he no care for the family they had created, for the children that he claimed to love so dearly?

Arthur was fir in his stance. He understood the fears of his wife, and he did not make his decision with a light heart. He was prepared to deal with the hatred of his children, and the misery that would not doubt follow alongside, but those things were temporary. One day Bill and his siblings would come to understand, and hopefully Molly would too; the world was not black and white as Dumbledore often preached. Bad things happened to good people, and sometimes people were driven to make impossible choices.

He turned to Razem, ignoring Molly's cries of desperation. He would bear her hate too. "When and where will we make the exchange?"

Arthur tried to sound as blasé about it as he could, disregarding his own feelings. The war had shown him that hesitation led to death, and that sacrifice was necessary. Ron would likely never know freedom again, and it left a dull ache within him to acknowledge the fact, but there was a chance they would see him again. If Ginny died, there would be no getting her back.

Razem's eyes scanned Arthur. The determination the wizard put forth was unexpected. Most wizards that followed Dumbledore's doctrine would have been unwilling to accept their position if they were in the man's shoes. Perhaps he had been too quick to judge. Still, time would tell how true the wizard's resolve was.

"I'll send someone to pick him up this evening. Once he is safely in the care of his escort, your daughter's medical expenses will be dealt with. Is that agreeable?"

Arthur nodded, unable to trust his voice. He burned with disgrace. If he had taken his job seriously then none of this would have happened. He could have made more money at work if he chose his battles more carefully. He was a champion of muggleborn, and he had known the consequences of being so publicly. If he had chosen to sacrifice his sense of righteous this could have been avoided. Knowing that his family was suffering for him doing what he felt was right left a sour taste in his mouth. He lamented knowing that good did not always lead to good, that people went through tribulations through no fault of their own. The truth of the world was a bitter pill to swallow.

Molly had fallen back to the floor, blubbering. He tried not to think about the ordeal he was putting her through, and he wished that there had been another way. He wished he could change things, that he could do it all differently to prevent this moment from coming. He had no want to see his wife reduced to nothing more than a sobbing mess, or the look on Ron's face when the evening came.

The light of the emerald flames died out as Razem left the floo call, leaving the room bathed in blackness that was only cut by the first rays of the rising sun. It was already a new day, and Arthur knew his daughter was going to be alright, and it made him feel so hollow. He had sentenced Ron to a life that he would never wish on anyone to save Ginny, and now he had to live with it.

He wondered what his own father would have to say about this. As the case was, the man had never been in a predicament that could relate to this. Sacrifice always seemed easy when it was only one's self on the line, there was no thought to the consequences of it; death would come and that was the end, only the living bore the scars of the loss.

He felt numb. Loss was something he was accustomed to. So many had given their lives to secure the future he had longed for, and now he made an ever greater one to keep it.

With a bitter sigh, he took Molly by the arm and led her back to the room. She laid down without a word, face puffy and eyes red. He had never wanted to cause her pain like this, and he hoped that he never had to again.

Ginny was asleep in her crib. It was disheartening to know that she would likely never remember her last brother. Ron loved the little baby. He always found time to spend with her, even if he couldn't be rough with her due to her condition. It was a cute little thing, and now it would never happen again.

Arthur left Molly and Ginny in the room. With the sun up the children would soon begin to stir, and he was not prepared for it. He needed to pack Ron's things and explain to him what was going on, and say his goodbye.

He found himself at Ron's door before his mind caught up with him. Slowly, his hands moved off their own accord. The woods felt cold beneath his fingertips. He hesitated. This was likely going to be the last time he ever saw Ron, and in all honesty the very thought filled him with nausea. He could only imagine what others would think of him when word eventually got out. Shame burned within him.

He took a sobering breath. With trepidation he pushed the door open. Ron was still asleep, nestled under his orange Chudley Cannons blanket. There boy looked so innocent laying there. The feeling of sickness churned within Arthur's gut.

Ron would never be this innocent cold again; he would be nothing more than a slave. He would become chattel. He would be reduced to property used as his masters saw fit. Was condemning him to sick a life worth avoiding the death of another of his children?

Arthur sat on the bed, looking down his flesh-and-blood. Ron was the sixth of seven children, and whole six was not a particularly magical number, seven was, and there were many a ritual that could harness that inherent power. He stroked Ron's hair. He would protect his son anyway he could, even if he couldn't be physically there, he would make his presence known.

The little two year old stretched out with a yawn. He smacked his lips, and ran his pudgy fists over his face. Arthur chuckled. "Morning son."

Ron gaze rose up to his father. "Papa!" with a giggle he launched himself at the man.

Arthur caught him, taking hold of him and mercilessly tickling him all over. He laughed uproariously, jerking this way and that to escape.

Arthur stopped abruptly. He pulled his son into a tight hug. Ron looked at his father with disguised curiosity. "Papa, what wrong?"

That simple question sent chills running down Arthur's spine. How was he supposed to tell Ron? How was he supposed to tell his own son that he had some him into bondage? How could he bear the shameful knowledge that he had failed the boy?

"You're going away for a while…" Arthur mumbled. The boy needed the truth. He needed to know he hadn't been abandoned, that his family loved him. "I don't know when you'll be back, but I wanted to let you know we love you." He kissed Ron's forehead, earning a disgruntled squeak.

The day passed in a blur. Molly cooked a large breakfast with many of Ron's favorite foods. The children all say down and ate with gusto. Before he knew it breakfast was over and the children were running outside.

Molly said over three sink, washing the dishes by hand. "Are you happy?"

Her words hit him like a slap in the face. "Am I happy?" he repeated, indignation coloring his tone. "Of course I'm not. I'm losing one of my children, how could I be happy!?"

Molly stood and wheeled around to face her husband. "You pushed us to this!"

Arthur rose to guys feet. He poked a finger at his wife. "Don't you dare out this all on me!" he snarled, letting spittle fly. "You bargained with that monster, and I took the deal to protect the family. I wouldn't have done it is it wasn't necessary."

Molly sniffled as danger faded into misery. She wanted so badly to lay the blame on someone else. She wanted to forget her in complicity. It was just so painful, knowing that you're responsible for the suffering if your in child. What kind of parent was she? To bargain one colds life for another, as Ron's though hope, thoughts, and dreams meant nothing in the face of Ginny's plight.

Molly had no more tears to shed. All she had left was the throb of remorse and depression. Still there was the hope that her son would come out the other side of this better than he would have been otherwise. She could see him going forward in life in spite of what was to come.

Instead of saying anything more to Molly, Arthur got up and got dressed for work. Molly watched over the house silently awaiting for the calm to fade. She would weather the coming storm; she would protect her family.


End file.
